


Alternate Fiction

by afterhoursfiction



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Gen, I love angst so I just zoom in on Alfons like, I really had to get this out of my system, I'm basically writing science nerds, Pre-Conqueror of Shamballa, yes you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterhoursfiction/pseuds/afterhoursfiction
Summary: Alfons Heiderich believes in solid science, and Edward Elrics claims he does, too. But Edward's idea of science is as wild as his stories, blurring the lines between fact and fiction.He was, Alfons always thought, completely unbelievable.[Alfons POV of Conqueror of Shamballa]





	

**Author's Note:**

> So recently I rewatched Conqueror of Shamballa, and then went to look it up because the timeline was confusing and my history was rusty. Then I came across this lovely note about how Alfons was hurt by how distant Edward behaves and well...that was just kicking at me to write a whole fic about it.

Alfons Heiderich builds himself on science, anchoring on the black-and-white of numbers and formulas, of truth and facts. Then he meets Edward Elric. He too, believes in solid science, he says. But Edward's idea of science is as wild as his stories - extravagant tales of adventure, seeming to border on fantasy. Alfons always voiced his skepticism, but listened with bemused interest anyway. Edward always insisted that they were true, and that they just happened in another world.

_Another world._

That was another thing that Edward liked to talk about. According to Edward, in _the other world_ , Alchemy exists. The way he described it, it sounded like magic - something straight out of a fantasy. But Edward insisted that it's _science_ , alchemy is bound by certain rules, just like their science formulas. He was, Alfons always thought, completely unbelievable.

 

* * *

 

Alfons first met him in the library. He was scouring the shelves, looking for a book. Perhaps, he had been so focused in his search that he failed to notice the messy piles of books on the floor. So Alfons fell, face-first, into a pile of books. He had prayed that they were paperbacks, at least.

"Shit! Are you alright?"

Someone emerged from between the stacks of books, scattering volumes left and right.

"Yes, I'm fine..." Alfons answered, taking hold of the hand that was offered to him. After pulling to help himself up, Alfons looked up at the other party for the first time.

And found them staring back like they've just seen a ghost.

"What...is it?" Alfons asked quizzically.

"You-" The other boy started to say, then as soon as their mouth had opened it clammed up again, and he pulled away. "Nothing."

Alfons frowned. He decided to try a different approach.

"Hi, I'm Alfons Heiderich."

The boy turned back, frowning as they scrutinised Alfons.

"I'm...Edward Elric," he responds. "And sorry...about just now."

Edward seemed to flush as he looked around at the landslide of books at his feet.

"It's alright," Alfons continued, bending down to pick up a few books. "What were you reading, Edward-san?"

"Uh...just various things," he answered vaguely as he started to pick up the scattered books as well.

Amongst the books that he had picked up, Alfons found books about chemical formulas, basic engineering - all types of math and sciences.

"Are you looking for something?" Alfons asked helpfully.

"Actually..." Edward paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. "Do you have books about alchemy?"

Alchemy - a form of chemistry and speculative philosophy. Turning base metals into gold, creating the elixir of immortality; alchemy sounded more like magic than science. In the modern age of science and technological advancement, something like alchemy was closer to fiction.

"Alchemy died out with the coming of the modern age; maybe you can find something on it in the history or fiction section." Alfons gathered a stack of books in his hands, setting them down neatly beside the shelf. "Why are you looking for something like that anyway, Edward-san?"

"Oh..." Edward stopped, staring at the book he had picked up. "No real reason. Thanks for the help."

"Be sure to put those books back," Alfons said as he gets up. "The librarian will be mad if you leave them around like that."

"Yea I will," Edward waved. "Alfons."

 

After that, Alfons ran into him a few more times in the library. Edward was always seated in a corner between the shelves, caged in by piles of books. Alfons would approach him, asking him what he was reading while simultaneously scolding him for the mess he always made.

Edward always looked surprised to see him, then whined about the nagging but welcomed him anyway. There was always this certain way Edward looked at him - Alfons couldn't quite explain it, except as a mix of loneliness and melancholy.

Alfons started bringing his books to sit with Edward, deciding that if he managed to hide from the librarian's eyes for hours, Alfons could, as well. The tables and chairs were definitely more comfortable by comparison, but there was a certain charm to reading huddled between the shelves and piles of books. Alfons felt that that was where books could really work their magic. As they grew more and more engrossed in the contents, the ache in their shoulders became a distant thought, the words spiriting them away from their small spot at the back of the library.

"What are you studying?" Edward asked, peering over his shoulder.

"I'm studying about how to build rockets," Alfons answered with a smile.

"Rockets?"

"They are things that fly you out of this world."

Edward's eyes grow wide - was it astonishment or fear? Alfons thought it looked a little hopeful.

"Do you think you can build one?"

"Edward-san," Alfons laughed, amused by the seriousness of his tone. "I have neither the materials nor the place to build one; and besides, I still need to study a lot more."

"Right," Edward nodded with a grim laugh.

 

One of those days, Edward suddenly announced that he was going to study rocketry, just like Alfons. Then he started appearing in Alfons' classes. Between hastily scrawled notes and heavy readings, Alfons befriended Edward. He found it surprising that Edward doesn't make many friends. He was easily one of the smartest person he knew, catching onto new things quickly; he could ramble on and on about his stories, which were often weird but entertaining tales. Alfons thought that if Edward just tried, he could charm anyone into listening to him talk for hours.

But that was the thing about Edward. As outgoing as he could be at times, he was mostly reserved.

Alfons figured that the reason Edward befriended Alfons was because

Alfons was somebody

No,

Alfons was _almost_ somebody.

That look; that melancholic and _longing_ look that Edward had - it wasn't for him. That much, Alfons could figure out.

 

* * *

 

After spending a considerate amount of time studying rocketry together, they return to Munich, where Edward boards with him. Another thing about Edward was his aloof nature. Despite living together, Alfons often had little idea what Edward was doing. Some days he said he was going to see the doctor. Some days he said he was just going for a walk. And on some, _good_ days, he would help Alfons with his work.

As autumn crept closer, Alfons' health took a turn for the worse. He had seen the doctors - lung disease, they told him. There were various things; the cold, pollution in the city, rocket fumes; if he avoided all those, Alfons might live a bit longer. But what Alfons wanted wasn't a long, easy life. He had dreams and he wasn't going to let up. So despite his doctor's warnings, Alfons stayed in Munich, breathing the payoff of the industrial revolution.

His coughing fits became inconsolable, and Alfons had little choice but to let his lungs heave and hack until they were satisfied. This often drew the attention of Edward, who frowned and asked if he was alright. Alfons always waves it off - it can't be helped, he thinks - and Edward doesn't ask.

Instead, he offers a warm glass of water or an encouraging pat on the back.

"It's late, go to sleep already," Edward says to him one night when he finds Alfons working into 2AM. Alfons wants to retort, saying that _Edward_ wasn't going to sleep either, then Edward absentmindedly pats him on the head. Alfons' words are taken right out of his mouth as weariness seeps into his bones.

"You're right. Goodnight, Edward-san."

Edward mutters goodnight back, closing the door behind him softly.

 

* * *

 

Edward talks a lot, and then he doesn't talk at all.

Alfons didn't really mind. When Edward talks, Alfons listens; whether it's something about rocketry, another one of his strange tales, or just something Edward needed to say. He liked listening to Edward's stories anyway, as scattered as they were, with ambiguous beginning and endings and people he didn't know. Sometimes he picks up a name or two - Al, Winry, Colonel Mustang - and saves them in case he mentions them again. But mostly he talks about his adventures with this one person - Al, his younger brother. After he tells a story, sometimes Edward looks to Alfons, as if he was searching for something - _someone_ , maybe.

Alfons never knows what to say when he does that.

Edward never tells him what Al looks like, or how he behaves, or talks - if it's similar, at all, to himself. It's probably better that he never knew.

 

"Maybe this place is all in my dreams."

Late nights and nursing a glass of vodka, Edward is no less pensive. If anything, teetering on that line between sobriety and drunkenness, Edward speaks the most truths. Unfortunately, hardly any of it makes sense to Alfons.

"If this was a dream, would you want to wake up?"

Alfons doesn't drink - he can't; his health is bad enough as it is. But he wonders if he does, if he could come to understand Edward's words a little better.

"...Yea."

Edward finishes his glass. Alfons' chest hurts a little bit. It must be getting cold.

 

Alfons doesn't get any better. Not that he expects to, when he stubbornly refuses to heed his doctor's advice. They finally have their own factory. Alfons can finally work on making his dream come true. He works days and nights, even packing to stay over so he doesn't waste any more time. Any more of his...limited time.

"Don't do it," Edward says. "Don't build those rockets."

What was he saying? Alfons had worked all his life for this. Their work was almost complete. He didn't care about war, the superior aryan race or any of that. He just wanted...

"This is my world."

Edward won't know; not when he likes to think everything here is just a dream.

"I want to leave behind some proof that I had lived here!"

This was what it came down to. Him, defending his childhood dreams on bloodied hands.

"You have no right to say anything!"

And he runs, before he could think of taking those words back.

 

* * *

 

Edward falls after a resounding gunshot, his silhouette taking a straight dive into a pile of crates. Despite everything, Alfons' gut wrenches and he scrambles after him.

With the help of a coworker, Alfons discovers that Edward is, fortunately, unharmed and only unconscious. He glances overhead, where the 'gate' that they had spoken of was opening. Was that where Edward's world was? Was that where he wanted to finally wake up in?

Not letting a second thought deter him, Alfons takes Edward to the single-seater rocket.

 

Edward wakes up as Alfons is strapping him in. He looks around, confused and Alfons shushes him quickly. Then he starts explaining the controls and the rocket, reading it off like one of their textbooks.

"At a speed of over 11 kilometres per second, this rocket will punch through whatever phenomena occurs in the doorway," Alfons explains, looking up at the glowing gateway overhead. "And get you to the other side."

"Wait! I never said I was going to the other side-" Edward protests.

"I want you to go," Alfons says, and he means it. "We don't just exist in your dreams. Even as my life is coming to an end, I will still be me, and I will definitely be here."

Edward stares after him; is it horror or guilt? Maybe Alfons is finally at the edge of his sobriety, his traitorous lungs squeezing the truths out of him.

As a final - maybe too sentimental - gesture, Alfons covers Edward's hand with his own.

"Don't forget me."

Then he pulls away, shutting Edward in the cockpit, running to the controls before anyone can notice what he is doing. Edward shouts, struggling against the seatbelt straps and banging on the glass. Alfons ignores him, pulling the controls to get the rocket ready for launching.

With everything going on, maybe Alfons Heiderich will only be a scratch on the side of his work. So maybe, if he could be something to Edward - not that _almost_ _someone_ , but himself. If Edward could remember him, even as a dream, maybe that could be good enough of a reason for his existence.

Alfons pulls the lever, starting up the rocket.

In this turbulent and corrupted world where his body doesn't work the way he wants, maybe he won't be nothing.

 

He looks up as the rocket shoots towards the sky, lighting up a fiery trail of smoke in its wake.

He hopes Edward will find what he's looking for between the blurred lines of fact and fiction - to the world where science is boundless, equal parts baffling and fascinating.

To the world Edward dreams of when he closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe that I've watched and read FMA since about 10 years ago and the first proper fic I write is based on Conqueror of Shamballa.  
> Anyway, you can find me on [tumblr](http://afterhoursfiction.tumblr.com)


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